“My tip has Amanda working out of a hair and beauty salon just down the road in Plaistow,” Chambers advised him as he led them towards the exit. “It’s not far.” They left the station and slipped between oncoming buses, crossing the main road to where the car was parked on double yellow lines outside a recently constructed hotel. Chambers wiped grease from his fingers with a paper napkin, chewing the last mouthful of his pastry as they approached the car. Picking up a half-full bottle of coke and an empty packet of crisps from the passenger seat, brushing crumbs into the footwell, he offered the seat to Eric. He got in, noting a strange smell that he put down to general untidiness rather than a lack of hygiene. At least, he hoped so.
Chambers started the car and pulled away from the kerb into traffic. The docklands were behind them and he saw signs for the Olympic Park. He had seen it on television many times since the construction and thought he might like to visit one day. Having been a teenager with a great deal on his plate at the time when London hosted the games, he didn’t think to apply for tickets. Now he realised how close it was, he felt a tinge of regret at not bothering.
The small run of shops was alongside the main road, nestling in between a terrace of brick residential houses and opposite a modern block of flats. The salon was located between a florist and a greengrocer. Eric found it extraordinary how the latter could survive in London with the competition from big business. Farm shops were plentiful in Norfolk and did a roaring trade with access to local produce but here, he was unconvinced by the viability. Again, Chambers parked illegally. This time pulling the car half onto the pavement directly outside the salon. A passer-by shot them a dark look as they got out of the car and Eric was embarrassed, but the local detective didn’t appear to notice either the disdain or his discomfort.
The woman on reception smiled as they entered. It was obvious neither were there for treatments. Three beauticians were busy with clients. Two were undergoing manicures and the third Eric could only guess at. Something to do with eyelashes or brows, he didn’t know. Everyone present was heavily made up and he found it off-putting. Evidently, this was the style these days. For some.
“We’re looking for Amanda,” Chambers said, offering up his warrant card.
“Sorry, she’s not in today,” the woman replied. Eric didn’t pick up any negative vibes from her as some were prone to when the police came calling. “Amanda only works a couple of days a week.”
“Yeah, we know she has a few jobs,” Chambers said, looking around. “Any idea where we can find her?”
They left moments later with an address. It meant nothing to Eric. He was yet to find his bearings. His knowledge of London was scarce, little better than the tourist highlights of landmarks, monuments and attractions. Back in the car, they were passing through built up areas. Everywhere he looked appeared built up. There was a lot going on for him to take in. Cranes towered over vast construction sites set alongside rundown streets and what looked like newly opened cafés and boutique shops were competing for frontage with independent shops whose signs were weathered and appeared decidedly outdated.
“Gentrification.” Chambers answered an unasked question as if reading his mind. “You’ll not recognise this place in a few years.” He sounded regretful. His area was changing around him and the future looked very different. Eric thought the uplift might be a good thing but having never been here before, he didn’t feel entitled to hold an opinion, let alone voice it. He sat in silence, eyeing the surroundings as they passed them. Even the largest hotels on the coast were dwarfed by many of the buildings around him now. He was glad of that, feeling grateful to hear the daily sound of gulls and the crash of waves rather than the rumble of traffic and the smell of diesel.
Arriving outside a block of flats, four-storeys high, Chambers found a parking bay on this occasion. Eric noted it was restricted for resident permit holders but his concerns were dismissed. The flat was on the third floor and without lifts, Chambers was breathing hard having climbed the concrete stairs as they made their way along the open walkway overlooking the car park. “These used to be council.” Chambers bemoaned in halting speech. Eric glanced over his shoulder, slowing the pace and thinking it would be better for the man if he refrained from talking but he didn’t. “Now it’s mostly private residential and a bit of housing association. Sky-high rents and long waiting lists. No place for the locals now.”
Eric looked around. Just as many were moving to the city others were leaving it, thinking about the influx of Londoners relocating to parts of Norfolk over the recent years. Always assuming they were fleeing the city life, he hadn’t considered it might not be a relocation through choice but of necessity. “You live locally?” He stopped, turning to place his hands on the brick wall and looking at the view across the neighbouring buildings towards the Thames. It was a good opportunity to give Chambers a chance to get his breath back.
“Yeah. Fourth generation,” Chambers replied, his chest inflating with pride. “My grandfather and his father worked the docks whereas my old man the warehouses. Changed a lot I can tell you, even from when I grew up.”
“How come you never thought about leaving?” Eric realised his tone must have struck the wrong chord because he read the
